


your sting red full stops my skin

by ithacas



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Post-The Raven King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithacas/pseuds/ithacas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Ronan wrapped his arms around Adam, pinning Adam’s upper arms against him. Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit, Ronan said into Adam’s hearing ear.</i> Ronan decides to change the way Adam remembers that day. One way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your sting red full stops my skin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the baes for reading this over. Also, deepest apologies to Virgil.

 

It’s midnight and quiet in Henrietta, Virginia. The only sounds Adam Parrish can hear are grit crunching under the car tires, the engine humming underneath his seat as it goes to sleep and the steady, pounding beat of his own alive and kicking heart. It’s as if the world hadn’t ended just a few hours ago;  it’s like it hadn’t begun again hours after that, with Gansey’s eyes tearing open and his mouth taking gasping breaths like he had been drowning. As he looks through the windscreen to the topmost point of St Agnes and the stars glittering behind it, he can almost pretend that none of today had even happened.

“Parrish?” Ronan says it like a question, even though Adam is sure he knows the answer. Adam turns anyway and studies his fill of Ronan’s profile. He doesn’t have to remind himself he can, because he never  _ had  _ to. Ronan has always been there to be studied by Adam.

Half of his face is drenched in the lights from the entrance of the church; the other half is dark shadows and sharp corners. Adam could shut his eyes and recite every nook and cranny of Ronan’s face without a single falter. His hands are itching to reach out and touch, to confirm to himself and everyone else how much he knows it and still deserves to know it, despite it all. But his hands are too rough and too preoccupied, in any case. He glances down - and somewhere inside, it makes him want to laugh at how hard it is to look away from Ronan these days - and sees his hands writhing around themselves, his fingers drawing uninterrupted circles around his wrists. The church lights help again.  He can see where Henry had tied him before and where the thing inside him had made pull uselessly at the bonds.  There are pink, damaged lines crisscrossing at his wrists and the skin feels inflamed now that he has time to pause and think about it.

“Parrish.” Ronan doesn’t even pretend to make it sound like a question this time.

Adam looks over at him again - one day he will get over how easy that is to do - and sees less of Ronan’s face now that he’s turned toward Adam, now that he’s facing away from the lights. His arms are stretched out, palms out like an offering, and Adam doesn’t need to think twice about placing his mangled hands where they belong.

Ronan is still for a minute. He looks like a statue, the way he stares intently at the hands in his hands. Then, he moves. Like something from a dream -  _ ha _ , Adam thinks and,  _ thank God he isn’t -  _ it’s almost a trick of the light when he moves, almost like a snake. His thumb and forefinger press down on each knob of bone in either side of Adam’s wrists, careful not to touch the lacerations. He lifts both hands to his chin and breathes in sharply from his nose, his mouth exhaling like a seasoned smoker. Adam fits a thousand heartbeats in that breath.

Ronan kisses one wrist - carefully, carefully, carefully - and then the other. He’s holding them both like they’re as precious as the baby bird Chainsaw used to be and Adam is too stuck on that image to realise Ronan has gone still again. Adam frowns, confused, but then notices that the sounds of the night have changed. There’s no more grit or throbbing engine; there’s just Adam’s heartbeat and his ragged, heavy mouth breathing. He’s shivering and Virginia isn’t cold tonight.

It comes back to him then - it had never really left.

_ “Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit.” _

Ronan is smiling his vicious, Ronan smile, at odds with the soft way he’s still holding onto Adam. “Parrish,” he says again, and this time it’s definitely not a question. This time, it’s an answer. Adam sucks in a breath quietly and holds it.

“Later,” Ronan whispers, and it’s a promise.

*

The Pig’s broken down.  _ Again _ . Adam is under the front of the car.  _ Again _ . Ronan and Gansey are definitely not helping.

Again.

Adam sighs to himself and stares up at the black metal heart of Gansey’s not-so-secret lover, trying to figure out the complicated math problem of what the fuck did they do to it this time. 

He wishes they’d had time to pick up Blue and Cheng before the thing died another loud, smokey death. They at least always offer to help Adam, even if Adam always adamantly refuses. Ronan and Gansey never do anything more helpful than turn up the music and argue over the bass.

Twenty minutes, one full EDM track and a threat that Ronan will tattoo Gansey in his sleep later, the Pig springs back into life with a hearty growl. Adam crawls out from under it on his elbows, wiping his oiled hands on a rag he found in the glove compartment. When he’s half blind by the sunlight he forgot existed, Ronan takes one proffered wrist and pulls him up until they’re the same height again. He holds on a little longer than necessary and grins with half of his angry slash of a mouth. Adam tries not to but it’s the only thing he’s not good at, resisting Ronan; he smiles back, all teeth and idiot, boy-next-door Henrietta charm.

Ronan leans in and down, one hand on the hood of the car, effectively closing Adam in. “I like it when you’re all greased up, Parrish.” Adam smiles more; Adam smiles Ronan’s smile.

The Pig lets out a wail. Ronan doesn’t move but Adam turns around anyway. Gansey is in the driver’s seat where he belongs, his fist coming down on the horn again. “Please think of the children!”

Adam snorts and pushes Ronan away to get into the back of the car. He can hear Ronan muttering behind him as he follows to get in the passenger seat beside Gansey.

“Opal is not around and your junk excuse of an automobile is not a kid,  _ Dick _ .”

“I respectfully disagree. And I was not referring to the Camarro.”

“You are a grown ass man.”

“Who doesn’t want to learn how babies aren’t made in front of him.” Gansey puts the key into the ignition to make the conversation drop. Ronan’s expression in the front mirror says it doesn’t work.

“I’m sure Cheng would be fine with you learning.”

Adam snorts again and covers his mouth before Gansey throws him a look. 

“I will not dignify that with an answer,” Gansey says, sounding dignified. He drives through a red light though, which tells Adam he is a little flustered.

His hands still stink of gasoline and the rag does nothing more than draw black lines over his forearms. Mindlessly, he kicks out in front of him and bumps Ronan’s seat.

“Watch it, Parrish,” Ronan says cuttingly.

The corners of Adam’s mouth twitch. He leans over and digs his chin in the crook of his elbow by Ronan’s headrest. He hasn’t thought of it for months but he can still feel the imprint of Ronan’s hand against his, pulling him up.

“Is it later yet?” He’s surprised by how calm his voice sounds.

Ronan wasn’t moving but now he freezes, the tendons in his neck stretching out with tension. Adam can see him digging his fingers into his thigh.

“Not yet,” he says finally. He almost sounds bored and Ronan isn’t a liar but Adam knows he’s the furthest from bored.

“What are you two talking about,” Gansey asks suspiciously. He’s frowning and looking between them both. “What’s later?”

Adam hasn’t smiled this much in ages. Ronan reaches out and slaps Gansey’s shoulder.

“Don’t wanna traumatise the children, Dick.”

*

Adam leans against the door jamb with his arms crossed, watching Laura throw things in and out of her closet with a fury. Her suitcase is full of the tiny colorful pieces of material she’s going to be using as a bikini; the rest is reserved for her Philo 110 books which will probably break her back on the way to St Barts.

“You could help, you know, Adam,” she murmurs under a pile of scarves. Adam glances at the epic mess and decides it’s safer not to.

“I’m only here for the rest of the boxset, Laura.”

She hums and straightens up, looking down at her luggage like it’s disappointed her. “It should be on the tv. Which season are you at?”

“We watched two at Christmas break,” says Adam, pushing himself away from the door and over to the tv in the middle of the dorm room. There are about a million DVD sets there. Adam doesn’t really know where to start. His instinct says alphabetically.

“Oh my god, how have you lasted this long? I marathoned the whole show in like a week!”

Adam shrugs, elbow deep in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “We watch it together. I’ve had finals, Ronan’s been - busy.”  _ Dreaming,  _ he doesn’t add.

He can hear the smile in her voice before she speaks. “That is really fucking cute, Parrish. I didn’t think you had it in you. It’s the one with the hazmat suits.”

Adam stands up, holding the DVD in his hands preciously. “Thanks, Laura. I’ll see you after break?”

Laura comes over to him, arms spread to warn Adam before he’s engulfed in her arms. “You two should come with. Your gay farm is not a vacation.” She pats down Adam’s arms. “Though you are the tannest white boy I know.”

Adam looks at her, not sure if it is a compliment or just a statement of fact. Laura bats him away. “Don’t hurt yourself, Parrish. Go, go on, I think I can hear the cavalry in the driveway.”

He leaves her to her devices, slipping the door shut behind him. She’s right about the cavalry; Stouffer Hall had been quiet these past couple of days since the end of finals. Now, Adam can hear the flurry of movement from the few upperclassmen who were staying over the weekend to check out the ridiculous car that’s pulling into the sidewalk. Ronan has never cared about parking permits.

He takes the steps two at a time and gets to the main door of the dorm house in time to see black wings take flight from the car window. Speaking of the car, the last time Adam had seen it, it had started its short life as something like a Maserati; Ronan has somehow managed to turn it into the Batmobile.

The driver’s door slams shut. Adam looks up from studying the angled front of the car and meets Ronan’s eyes. Or tries to, because he’s wearing sunglasses. His entire body is screaming a warning; don’t touch, or you’ll cut yourself. Adam doesn’t heed it because he doesn’t need to. He’s never been cut on Ronan’s sharp corners.

His head is freshly shaved short and the way he moves, suddenly, in his all black outfit probably makes him look in sharp contrast to Adam. Adam has just finished an essay on post-colonial anarchism in Celtic societies and he shows it; his jeans are worn at the knees and faded, he’d slept in his Penn shirt last night and hasn’t taken it off yet and his hair is sticking up in odd places after his shower in the morning. Nothing in the way Ronan moves toward him tells Adam that he cares.

He stops one step below Adam, giving Adam an inch on him. “Parrish.”

“Lynch.”

His Ronan smile eases out from him in increments. Adam is too impatient to match it. He cups a hand at the base of Ronan’s head and pulls him in, fitting their lips together. The angle works and he can feel Ronan lean up in an attempt to keep kissing Adam. It’s gratifying to be wanted so much; it hasn’t lost its novelty yet.

They separate with a sigh. Ronan takes his glasses off. “You coming in,” asks Adam, even as he starts making his way inside. He doesn’t have to look back to know Ronan is following.

He shuts the door of his apartment and lets Ronan lead the way to the common room. For a second, he just appreciates his boyfriend walking away from him. Then he notices his back pockets. The familiar black silk, striped red of Aglionby Academy is hanging from both pockets of Ronan’s jeans. Adam opens his mouth to ask but thinks better of it. If Ronan wants him to know, Ronan will tell him.

“How was the drive?”

“Four hours too long,” Ronan says succinctly, falling onto the couch and stretching his arms above his head. His T-shirt rides up half an inch and Adam smiles to himself as he sits opposite him on the crate that serves as their coffee table, his legs between Ronan’s. Ronan squeezes one leg between his thighs to remind Adam he’s really there.

“I got Breaking Bad,” Adam waves the DVD between them. “Season three.”

Ronan whoops animatedly and grabs the DVD like an eager kid. “Fuck yes. That fucking crash, man.”

Adam nods and gets up, slapping Ronan’s leg lightly. “Put it on. I’ll make dinner. You hungry?”

Ronan’s already lost interest in him, his hand spinning the DVD. Adam moves over to the kitchen and takes out the last of the eggs from the refrigerator as the theme tune starts playing through the apartment.

They eat their omelettes through episodes one and two, Ronan at the edge of his seat most of the time, swearing every time someone does something incompetent. His jacket is thrown over the back of the sofa and his boots have been kicked somewhere in the room and Adam is trying,  _ really  _ trying not to be distracted. But it’s hard and Walter White’s face is so much less interesting than Ronan’s.

“You need to chill the fuck out, Parrish.”

Adam blinks. Ronan isn’t watching the tv anymore. His arm is resting on the back of the sofa and he’s staring down Adam.

“What are you talking about, Ronan.”

“If you can tell me what happened in the last ten minutes, I’ll shut up.”

Adam sighs, caught. “Fine. I don’t know.”

Ronan nods, more to himself than to Adam and leans over to pause the show. He doesn’t sit fully back into the couch. He reaches out for Adam’s wrist and pulls him up. Adam kicks at the blanket that was covering them both from the faulty heating system and stands up, trusting Ronan to drag him along.

Adam’s room is in the corner of the apartment. They walk there barefoot, the carpet under their feet muffling their approach even though there is no need; Adam’s roommates are both out of town already.

Ronan leaves the door open, like he already knows they’re not there, but doesn’t let go of Adam. He pulls him softly closer, tucking one finger under Adam’s chin to kiss him. It’s longer this time; this time, Ronan takes his time to remember Adam’s mouth. He’s soft and careful with him, like maybe Adam could break. When he bites his lower lip, he soothes it over with his tongue slowly. When he pulls back, Adam almost feels dizzy with kissing.

“Lie down,” Ronan says, and it doesn’t sound like an order but Adam thinks it might be. He sinks down on the bed until his head hits the pillows and stares at Ronan, waiting. Ronan stares back and starts pulling something from behind him.

Adam frowns for a moment, remembering the ties in Ronan’s pockets.

Ronan comes over to him, sitting at one side of the bed. He leans down, reaching for one of Adam’s hands. His thumb presses down lightly on his pulse point and then be brings it to his mouth, kissing invisible scars. “It’s later now,” he whispers.

Adam swallows. 

_ “Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit.” _

He remembers it all, still. It’s been months, months and months and months, and if Adam closes his eyes, he can still feel his eyes twitching with someone else’s sight; his hands still itch with the ghost feeling of someone else wanting to hurt with them. But he remembers Ronan most of all, Ronan panicking, Ronan yelling, Ronan telling him  _ it’s going to be alright,  _ the only way he knew how.

_ Perhaps it will be pleasing to look back on this one day. _ It hasn’t been, it never will be but Ronan is here and Ronan is trying and Ronan remembers far better. Ronan’s fingers press further down on Adam’s wrist and Adam hisses.

“You _ asshole.” _

Ronan grins. “That’s how it goes, Adam.” He lifts his free hand and lets one of the ties dangle from his fingers. “Trust me?”

If there was ever a moment when the answer to that question was no, Adam doesn’t remember it. Instead of saying anything, he offers his other wrist to Ronan’s lap. 

Ronan’s grin is gone. He stares at Adam, a frown drawing a clear line between his eyebrows. Then he moves onto the bed, climbing over Adam and settling on his lap. Adam feels his own breathing become heavier, his chest rising and falling with Ronan.

“Manus,” Ronan says quietly. Adam gives him both wrists, never once looking away from Ronan. Ronan breaks eye contact only to wind the tie around both wrists and smooth the silk over Adam’s skin. When he’s satisfied, he holds both hands in one of his and raises them above Adam’s head until they touch the headboard. Adam sucks in a breath, momentarily flinching at the cold metal on his skin. Ronan freezes above him.

Adam just says, “Ronan.”

He can feel the tie tighten as Ronan secures it on the headboard. When Ronan sits back, Adam pulls at it experimentally; the bars groan a little at the strain but other than that, Adam can’t move. 

“What’s the second one for, then.” The words come out breathless and make him sound nervous, even though he’s sure he’s not. He just doesn’t  _ know  _ and not knowing things is new to Adam Parrish. 

Ronan is looking at him like he’s trying to study him. More than anyone, Ronan Lynch is an expert on knowing things about Adam Parrish.

_ “‘Let me be your eyes. Let me be your hands,’” _ he quotes, leaning down to fit the tie around Adam’s eyes and knot it behind his head.

Weirdly, the darkness calms him down. Whatever control he thought he had before is gone now; now, he’s completely in Ronan’s hands. And Ronan’s hands are safe, whatever else.

He’s aware that Ronan hasn’t moved. His face is still close to Adam’s face; he can hear him breathing, he can feel the breath over his cheek. The gasp that escapes him when Ronan presses a kiss to his cheek is just honest surprise; the affection isn’t new. That affection has always been there for him to take.

Ronan doesn’t stop. He trails kisses on Adam’s face, from his cheekbones to his nose to his Cupid’s bow. The kiss he presses to his mouth, when it comes, is chaste this time. Just a brush of trembling lips on shaking lips, but it still leaves Adam wanting more, enough that he chases the feeling when it’s gone. His head lifts up from the bed, following Ronan’s phantom kiss, but Ronan is already too far and Adam is tied far too well.   
  
"Down, Parrish," he whispers and presses a forefinger between his clavicles, pushing Adam back onto the bed.   
  
He keeps his hand there, a strange, soothing pressure on his chest. He can feel Ronan dip into his neck and scrape his teeth on his pulse point. Adam shudders at the momentary pain; his body bucks up involuntarily against its trappings but it's no good.   
  
Ronan's teeth travel down, sinking and biting on Adam's collarbone. If Adam tries, he can almost make out Ronan through the gap in his blindfold; prostrate over Adam like he's something to be revered, hand cautiously holding him still. The image makes him suck air through his teeth sharply. His entire body, already on edge, feels like it's dangling from a tightrope, like it’s seconds from falling.   
  
"I've got you," Ronan says, because he somehow knows, the way he almost always does.    
  
Ronan's hands go lower, to the gap of skin between Adam's jeans and his shirt. Ronan always runs hot and it burns when he touches Adam's skin and pulls the shirt up and over, resting it over Adam's eyes and using it as an extra restraint for his arms. Adam wants to say  _ 'you bastard' _ and not mean it but all that comes out is a weak whiny noise.    
  
"No cheating, Parrish." Adam can hear the grin in his voice.  _ Let me be your eyes. Let me be your hands. _ He doesn’t think Ronan says it with words this time.

He uses his fingers to draw a line from the dip in Adam’s collarbones to his navel. Adam tries to keep still of his own accord, biting his lip to restrain himself. His abdomen clenches when Ronan’s fingers caress him there but he doesn’t move. 

“Adam. I’m here. You can let go.” The kiss on Adam’s hipbone almost undoes him.

By the time Ronan pulls his pants off, Adam is hot all over and the cool air on his skin makes him breathe easier. There’s a moment when laughter threatens to break the surface; when his jeans get caught on his heel and Ronan, who’s still half on top of Adam, swears like a sailor, so colorful that Niall Lynch would be proud. Adam, from the side of his good ear, can hear Ronan stumble when he finally manages to get the better of them and throw them behind him. The laugh bubbles out of his mouth, even though he tries to stop it.

There’s a pause. “Are you  _ laughing _ at me, Parrish?”

If he had use of his arms, Adam would be slapping a hand over his mouth. “No,” he says definitively, though it sounds very much like he’s saying yes instead. The mattress bounces a little as Ronan sits back down. “Asshole. I’m trying here.”

Adam wishes he didn’t feel so soft. He bumps a leg against where Ronan must be. “I know. Try again. No laughing this time.”

“Better not be.” The mattress dips and Ronan smacks Adam’s thigh as he moves closer. Adam breathes in sharply. “Interesting,” says Ronan. “Another later.”

“Ronan,” Adam struggles. Never in his life has he been this close to begging. Ronan hums a question and Adam can feel it on his skin, close, not close enough,  _ too close _ . He can’t say no to that. “Please,” he breathes out.

The pads of Ronan’s fingers will leave bruises by morning but Adam doesn’t care, not when he can suddenly feel nothing but the heat of Ronan’s mouth. He pulls violently at the tie on his hands when Ronan sinks further. He hasn’t wanted to all night but now he wishes he could see. His imagination is not nearly enough for what is happening; Adam needs to  _ know. _ All of a sudden, it feels like the makeshift blindfold is tighter than the one around his wrists. His whole body is intent on Ronan’s mouth, on every sense he can’t use for it. That’s the tipping point; he’s been on the brink the entire evening and his breathing gets harsher, his heart now close to breaking out of his chest. 

Suddenly, he can’t see black anymore; suddenly, it’s stars he’s seeing. If his mouth doesn’t say Ronan’s name, everything else in his body is screaming it.

It takes him a little while to realize Ronan is talking to him. He focuses on his voice, turning the right side of his head toward the sound. His chest is rising and falling fast.

“...Adam. Hey. Adam, Adam. You good?” 

He nods. Ronan’s hand is tentative when it pulls down Adam's shirt and then rests on his cheek. It catches on stubble and it wakes Adam from the slight stupor he hadn’t known he was in.

“You’re sure?” The way Ronan says it tells Adam he wants an answer this time.

“I’m sure,” says Adam. He means to sound reassuring but his voice is too hoarse for that. His throat feels like someone went at it with sandpaper.

Ronan’s thumb sneaks under the blindfold, following the dip of Adam’s cheekbone. “Is it okay if I take these off now?” He’s never sounded less like Ronan than right now; and yet, Adam would recognise this as Ronan - a softer, more careful Ronan - from miles away. He nods again, not trusting himself to speak.

Ronan gets the tie around his hands first. If he hadn’t been holding them, Adam’s sure his arms would have just fallen uselessly from the bedpost. But Ronan seems to know and takes hold of them, letting them rest on either side of Adam.

He blinks slowly when the tie falls from his face. It’s a second or two before he adjusts to the soft lighting and Ronan comes into focus above him. He’s watching him purposefully, his eyes narrowed.

Adam clenches his left fist, feeling and blood rushing back through it. When he’s sure he can use it, he lifts it to Ronan’s face, cupping his chin. “I’m good. I’m sure.” He sounds more like himself this time.

Ronan grinds his teeth. It throws his jaw in sharp relief over Adam.

“Ronan…”

“I believe you, Parrish. I want you to believe it too.” 

He knew this was about him from the moment Ronan spoke the words  _ forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit _ . He just didn’t know how far Ronan had thought about it; he hadn’t realized how important this was, to both of them. The hand holding Ronan was his own; the hands Ronan had just untied were his; the eyes searching Ronan’s face and reading all of this in stark black and white detail were his, Adam’s, and Adam could stop being scared that any of this was a lie or temporary.

Ronan leans into to Adam’s touch and holds his hand hostage between his cheek and his shoulder. “You’re not dangerous, Adam. I’m not afraid of you.”

Adam swallows down the fear he’d been ignoring since Ronan first promised.

Ronan braids one of the Aglionby ties through his fingers. “This,” he murmurs softly, “was not to keep me safe from you. This was to show you you’re safe from  _ that _ . It’s gone, Adam.”

The relief that floods down to Adam’s stomach is startling. He rubs a finger over the bristles of hair above Ronan’s ear. “Didn’t know you were this soft, Lynch.”

Ronan grins, lightning fast. “Didn’t know you were this kinky, Parrish.”

Adam bursts out laughing and pushes Ronan down next to him, not gently anymore. Ronan stays down, still smiling, his head an inch from Adam’s. It’s too far, Adam decides and closes the distance.

Ronan makes a muted sound of protest that doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, then sighs quietly into his mouth, parting his lips to make them fit together properly. Adam’s hands are clumsy as they snake their way into Ronan’s shirt and he smiles into the kiss, dragging his teeth lightly over Ronan’s lower lip, just enough to leave it pink and swollen. Ronan leans into it, pushing their faces as close as they can get before nudging Adam away, a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth that makes Adam’s cheeks turn hot. Adam watches him get comfortable, head buried into Adam’s pillow. He’s still playing with the tie in his hand. It occurs to Adam then.

He taps a finger against Ronan. “What about you?”

Ronan opens one eye. “What about me?”

Adam raises an eyebrow. Maybe it’s because he’s still adjusting to being able to see again but he he can tell just from Ronan’s voice, that he already knows exactly what. “Lynch.”

Ronan stares at him, in a very Ronan way. “I dealt with it.”

Adam frowns at him. Ronan doesn’t lie. “‘Dealt with it’.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “The thing is, Parrish, you don’t know what you looked like. Also you were out of it for a long time.” The words shit-eating grin were invented for Ronan. “I dealt with it.”

Adam’s cheeks heat up without his permission. He waits until he’s almost composed to say, “Next time, I want to see.”

Ronan’s fingers find Adam’s and intertwine. He lifts the hand to his face and studies the sensitive skin there. “Next time, huh.” It’s another promise.

Adam holds his breath as Ronan kisses his wrist. It stings just enough to remind him what they’d just done but Ronan’s mouth is cool and it helps. He blinks his eyes shut and nudges closer. His forehead touches Ronan and he hums a ‘thank you’ when Ronan pulls the covers over them both. 

Hands clasped together, they sleep.


End file.
